A Farewell to Arms
      Having heard the edict of the Valar read to the denizens of Doriath, Celeborn carefully ponders the words. "Are we ourselves culpable of the destruction wrought by the hands of the Lords of the West? What have we done that have made the Powers wroth with us?"  Leaving the main square, he strolls down the paved streets until he reaches the gardens of Menegroth once fashioned and nurtured by the loving hands of Melian the Maia.
Shaped into works of art by the Queen, the fragrant blossoms of this bower allow him to forget for a moment the impending doom pronounced by the Valar, should they fail to act. One tree catches his eye. In the midst of all the blossoms of porphory, blooms a tree of immaculate whiteness, like the snow capped peak of a mountain. It reminds him of the white garments so favored of his beloved Galadriel. His thoughts now turn to her.
  "Perhaps I have let my anger get the best of my in this matter. Instead of letting my wrath rule my words, I should allowed the situation to simmer down and then attempt to speak with her. I believe I am willing to compromise. Lately due to her absence I find my thoughts muddled. She always brought clarity and insight when it was needed. Now with this demand of the Valar, I find myself in need of her counsel."
   He reaches up into the branches of the tree and plucks one of the white flowers. He pauses for a single second and smells its fragrance. He is reminded of the days in Lothlorien, before the calamity inflicted upon the world of the Valar and the constant kinstrife and wrangling between the Noldor and Sindar here in Doriath.  Those days are gone and there is no return to them.
    "We have to do what is set out for us and follow that course, if it be the will of Eru." Tucking the blossom into his jerkin, he heads back for the palace.
 Walking towards the chambers of Galadriel, he no longer fears a confrontation. He will say what he must without malice or regret. He knocks on her door and awaits her reply.